Nestling
by pekuxumi
Summary: In which Damian is scared, Bruce is a jerk and Dick needs to save the day. What else is new?


_**A/N:** hey! I wrote this harmless little One Shot out of desperation to do_ anything_ productive instead of staring at the empty pages of my term paper. Too bad the only impact it had was to increase my frustration with everything Non-fanfiction-related. The world's a cruel place. Anyways, enjoy my first One Shot ever. Critizism is highly approved!_

_(I know, the whole nestling/bird-thing is soo overdone... but look at that picture, at that bird... don't you see Damian? That gloomy "-tt-"?_

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**NESTLING**

Batman wasn't used to people saying no to his face. He was used to unsuccessful reasoning (Tim), shouting (Jason), sulking (Dick) and Alfred's silent treatment – but not to the almost comical reflection of his own scowl.

Stubbornness was a family trait, it seemed. Damian was fighting him with every fiber of his body, standing as far away from him as the restricted space of the small aircraft belly allowed, arms crossed and chin arrogantly raised.

With each silence-filled second the tension between the two became more palpable, and eventually Bruce sighed exasperatedly and shook his head.

"Explain," he demanded sharply, not daring to hope for any improvement of the current situation.

"It's not safe," the boy answered in a beat, repeating what he had said over and over again. "In fact, it is suicide, and I am appalled to find out that this has been your idea, father."

"You're doing far more dangerous things every night, and so far you haven't complained."

"This is different."

The scowl was back, and the eerie silence from earlier came up again. Alfred coughed slightly in the cockpit, reminding Bruce that there was no time to lose. Red Robin had jumped already ten minutes ago, and he didn't want to leave the boy alone longer than necessary.

"Nightwing," he gritted out between clenched teeth, turning his gaze away from his youngest to the young man beside him, who was flinching now and unsuccessfully tried to hide the grin on his face.

"Yeah, boss man?" Dick asked and got up slowly from his sitting position on the floor where he had watched the discussion, interjecting from time to time to ask Alfred if he was _sure_ that there was no popcorn on this plane, ''cause this is turning out to be a great martial arts movie.'

"Fix this," Bruce ordered and threw the parachute container Damian had dropped earlier into the vigilante's arms.

Nightwing's mask widened in incredulity. "What? Why me?"

"He listens to you." Now both of his sons stared at him in disbelief. "I can't lose more time over this. We're already lagging behind."

"I propose we just leave Drake down there," Damian spoke up, much to Bruce's dismay.

Dick sighed and pinched his nose, before pulling off his mask. "Dami, come on. What's the problem? Bruce is right, you've done so many things that were just as dangerous as parachuting..."

Damian turned towards him, clearly distressed. "Jumping out of a plane is _not safe_."

"We've done it hundreds of times! Tim already jumped – do you really want to chicken out of something _Tim_ did without even hesitating?"

Damian grabbed the fabric of his cape and pulled it even tighter around himself. "Drake's stupidity does not surprise me."

"That's enough," Bruce interjected, Batman mode, "you will take your equipment and jump. I don't want to hear another word."

It was an order, not a suggestion, but Damian retreated even farther away and shook his head vigorously. The kid was scared, no doubt about that, but wouldn't admit it.

Another cough from Alfred made Bruce's patience wear out. He took two firm strides towards the brightly coloured boy and tried to grab him, but in one swift motion Nightwing moved between the two and knelt in front of the ex-assassin.

"Dami," he coaxed softly, "nothing will happen. It's fun, you'll see!"

The boy snorted. "What if the parachute won't open? What if the fabric tears?! Of all people_ you_ should be aware of the consequences, Grayson!"

Bruce took a sharp breath, ready to reprimand his youngest, when Dick let go of a long, pained sigh.

"Damian," he said and grabbed the boy's shoulders, forcing him to look up. "Did you know that I still hear the sound of my parents hitting the ground?"

The smallest bird flinched surprised; he clearly hadn't expected this turn in conversation. "What are -"

"They didn't hit simultaneously. My mother landed head first, with a crack that still makes me sick. My father landed on his chest, with a noise like a watermelon splashing open, and the air that was expelled from his lungs sounded like a faint moan."

"Why are you telling me this?" Damian asked with a small voice, eyes wide and more childlike than Bruce had ever seen him. "How is this supposed to convince me?"

Dick smiled at him reassuringly and ruffled his hair. "Don't you think that I would check our equipment thoroughly before watching you guys jump from a plane?"

Damian jerked his face to the side, avoiding looking into his brother's eyes.

"You can jump in tandem with me, we'll strap your harness to mine," Dick suggested with a smile, "I won't force you to do anything, but at least give it a try."

To Bruce's astonishment, Damian gave a small nod after staring at Dick for a few conflicted seconds. Then he took the harness he had thrown away earlier and strapped it around himself, calm and collected.

Dick turned around to Bruce with that megawatt grin of his and gave him a thumbs up, obviously pleased with himself.

Two minutes later, Bruce watched his sons leaning out of the open plane door. One of Dick's hand was still holding onto the rail, the other carefully checking the multiple carabiner clasps that connected the scared child with him. Damian's hands were buried in the fabric of the Nightwing suit, understandably so while he dangled out of the plane without footing.

Dick's lips moved; the harsh winds carried the sound away from Bruce. But Damian nodded, Dick grinned, and in the next second they were falling towards the ground.

Wordlessly, Bruce pulled the cowl back into place and checked the knots and clasps of his equipment again. When he got into position and locked his gaze at the white parachute so many miles under him, he halfheartedly tried to convince himself that the uncomfortable feeling in his chest was worry for his sons, and not a spark of jealousy.


End file.
